Sempiternal Bloodlust
by MistressMage
Summary: Set before the Reichenbach Fall, John and Sherlock find themselves facing something even more life threatening than a life or deathmatch with a criminal mastermind. An entire species of ghouls that have made their home in England. With tensions running high and uncertainty running amok, the two colleagues find friendship in a young woman whose survival skills make her a force anew.
1. Chapter 1

Sempiternal Bloodlust

 **Disclaimer:** The following is a fan based work of fiction combining characters from the show Sherlock and concepts from the anime Tokyo Ghoul. I do not own either of these shows, nor do I own the characters associated with them, with Anita Rose Taggitt being the only exception.

Saturday afternoon on Baker Street passed without incident, as the sun was hanging high in the sky at 1 P.M. The rays of the sun shined through the thin curtains of the flat on 221B Baker Street. For the time being, the living room that was brightly illuminated was void of any life, with the exception of the microscopic dust particles that moved through the air. A few moments later the sound of approaching footsteps resonated from the door opposite to the left side of the kitchen. John came downstairs and crossed over into the living room, wearing only a bathrobe, with a towel slung over his shoulders. He sat down in the chair that faced away from the kitchen. As his hair was still damp, he used the towel to dry it and catch the droplets of water the he missed.

He exhaled a sigh of relief and took in the bleak, but relaxing atmosphere of the living. Sherlock had left earlier that morning to take care of a case that Lestrade once again needed his help with. John didn't go with him, for the reason being that the last case they embarked on ended in a bloody struggle with a ghoul and John sustaining a minor injury to the leg. A leg that was formally believed to have been psychosomatically limping. Fortunately, the blood that was splattered didn't come from either him, or Sherlock. More accurately, the blood splatter came from the human that this particular ghoul had fed on. The blood was splashed in their direction, as a means of temporarily blinding them, thus allowing the ghoul to run past them, trip up John in the process, and make it's escape. As neither of them had the proper weapons with which to kill it they were forced to let the ghoul go. That is until Mycroft's people are able to catch it.

In the time that these creatures appeared on the streets of London, the whole city was fraught with trepidation and worry. The first attack was a trio of people, whose mangled corpses were found in an alley way on Shaftsbury Avenue. The carnage was too extensive for it to be deemed an animal attack, and as they continued, authority and government officials were forced to narrow their way of thinking, and adopt a more open mind as to what they were dealing with. An entire species of carnivorous cannibals who sustain themselves on the flesh of humans and other ghouls. Probably the most horrifying thing about them was the striking resemblance that they bare to ordinary humans, with the only exceptions being their biology, mentality, and diet. The only things that they're able to enjoy the same as humans are coffee and water, but these alone aren't enough to sustain their hunger. Other than that, human food tastes disgusting to ghouls. So far their origins remain unknown, but one thing was certain beyond all doubt: They needed to be exterminated for Queen and Country. And this is were Mycroft's come into play. Not only was Mycroft in charge of his own police force and secret Service, but he was also in charge of the organization known as the CCG. The acronym roughly translates to the Commission of Counter Ghoul and is a federal agency funded by Parliament which seeks to prosecute and eliminate any ghouls that cross their paths. Not just in London, but around the world.

Even Sherlock was left astonished by the vast amount of gore that painted the scene of the crime, but he continued on with his usual deductions. It wasn't until he had his own personal run in with a ghoul that he was left shocked and shaking with dread. The last time he was forced to contradict his skills of deduction was during the Baskerville case, and his own encounter with the beast. Before the previous night, he had yet to encounter a ghoul, but only examined the crime scenes ,and helped Molly examine the corpses that they left in their wake. Now that he had a clearer picture of what he was dealing with, and a bit of time to reevaluate his other cases, he was more determined than ever to keep the game afoot. Chances were that this next case involved another ghoul, and another mangled corpse for Molly to examine at St. Bart's. As John reached for the remote to turn on the TV, there was a knock at the door. He turned his head around and looked at it intently.

"Who is it?" He called out. His response was the opening of the door itself, with Mrs. Hudson quietly poking her head inside. Her eyes scanned the living room looking for Sherlock, but could see only John. A kind smile formed on her lips, as she invited herself into the flat.

"It's only me, dear. Has Sherlock come back yet?" She asked. Seeing that it was only his kindly landlady, John gave his full attention to the TV and turn it on with one click of the remote. He molded his body into a more relaxed position before turning to look back to Ms. Hudson.

"No, he's been gone all morning. Off helping Lestrade with another case." He said. As he looked back at Mrs. Hudson. He noticed that she was holding various envelopes, and slips of paper in her right hand and placed it on the table, which could only be their mail. His and Sherlock's.

"Ah. Off solving another one of these gruesome killings, I take it. It's a shame you couldn't go with him this time." She said. John could only shrug his shoulders at this, and agree with her silently. No sooner had she made this statement, a news story appeared on the TV with the reporter breaking the news of two murdered adolescent kids.

 **The teens were last seen leaving the London Aquarium. When they were found, their corpses were brutally mangled, and distorted, making them unrecognizable. The suspects in question are believed to be ghouls. Authorities from the CCG, as well as Scotland Yard are still on the lookout for said ghouls, meanwhile civilians are advised to stay safe when traveling alone.**

` Mrs. Hudson looked back at the TV and grimaced at what she was hearing. John could only let out a heavy sigh, and continue watching the story on the news. As the reporter's voice came out as a voiceover, the footage that was shown displayed the police officers of Scotland Yard collecting evidence, and examining the crime scene, as standard procedure would dictate. The camera briefly caught a glimpse of Sherlock's face, but he only grimaced, and turned his back to it. Before the camera could pan over to Lestrade, it managed to catch sight of one of the bodies. The entire length of it was covered with a sheet, but the blood splatter that stained it came out in a thick spread, and covered every inch of fabric. The sight alone made John shift in his seat, as he was reminded of his own encounter with a ghoul. He could only count his blessings that he and Sherlock had had better luck than those kids. Mrs. Hudson was preparing to leave before she shook her head at the TV again.

"It just breaks your heart doesn't it? Imagine what their loved ones must be going through. If only these damn monsters would just die out". She said. Her countenance showed a mix of sympathy for the deceased, and contempt for the ghouls. Nevertheless, she shook her head dismissively, and made for the door, speaking to John as she did so.

"Well, never you mind. I'll be just across the hall, if you need me. I've left your mail on the table. Bye for now, dear." She said. With those final parting words, Mrs. Hudson was out the door and making for her own living quarters. John was left alone with only his thoughts to occupy him for the time being. His eyes scanned over the furniture of the living room, drowning out the noise of the TV completely. This continued for a few more minutes until his eyes landed on his laptop sitting as it always does, on the table that was adjacent to Sherlock's chair, and situated between the two windows overlooking the London Streets. The last cases that he could remember uploading to his blog were on his and Sherlock's encounter with the Hound of Baskerville, which was previously thought to be little more than a myth, created by the townspeople as a means of making a quick profit. And then there was their encounter with Jim Moriarty at the swimming pool, where John was made to where a parka that was decked out with explosives.

All the while, Sherlock and Moriarty tried outwit each other in brief contest of intellect, before Moriarty left the building, giving Sherlock time to remove the bomb and enjoy the moment of tranquility, only to briefly appear again, with his snipers trained on John and Sherlock. Sherlock's own solution to this was to detonate the bomb with the gun that he'd brought with him, killing the three of them together, at least ensuring that Moriarty was dead. He would have pulled the trigger, had the moment not been interrupted by a phone call that forced the consulting criminal to take his attention away from the two of them, and eventually leave, on the promise that Sherlock would be hearing from him.

Yet, with the rampant ghoul attacks that have been occurring throughout the city, Moriarty had yet to deliver on that statement. John could only hope that they had nothing to do with him, otherwise he and Sherlock would be made to dig their own graves. On that note, John turned off the TV, sat up from his seat, grabbed his cane, and exited the living room to get dressed, and plan out how to write his next entry. When he returned fully dressed, he'd all but prepared the words in his mind, right down to the description of the ghoul's piercing black and red eyes, and the gaping amount of blood that pooled out of it's mouth. Once his lap top was turned on, and a new blank, page on his opened up on his blog, John's fingers danced across the keyboard, writing one lengthy paragraph after another. Each one more descriptive than the one before it. Of course, he was careful to leave out anything involving Sherlock's shocked state at the sight of his first ghoul, knowing that the consulting detective would be highly offended. When he was finished, he sat back in his chair, and looked over his work.

 **As I'm sure many of you are aware, the streets of London have now become home to something that you would only read about in horror stories. They are called ghouls, and as recent news stories have shown, there's nothing fictional about them. Like so many of you, when the first attack happened, I assumed that it was the work of an escaped animal from the London Zoo. But after the news of more attacks started coming in, things began to take a turn for the worst. Seemed like every story that appeared on TV was concerning another murder for Scotland Yard to investigate.**

 **I know that many of you are asking the questions "How is Sherlock handling this?" and "Has he encountered any ghouls yet?" And to answer these question, 1) Sherlock is handling this situation as he always does, with the same cold, but brilliant deductive abilities that he uses to see through everyone and everything he encounters. As far as these grisly murders are concerned, Sherlock has only examined the bodies with Dr. Hooper down at St. Bart's Hospital. 2) Yes, he has encountered a ghoul as of last night, during another murder investigation. I would describe his initial reaction, but he's sworn me not to tell under the threat of eviction. This isn't really the case, but you all know what I mean.**

 **Hitherto last night, I was convinced that I'd seen more than my fair share of madness, death, and bloodshed, what with the war in Afghanistan. But after seeing what I saw, I couldn't have been more wrong. The ghoul that Sherlock and I saw, it was crouched down in front of a figure that was lying flat on it's back. Both of their faces were slightly obscured by the darkness of the night. Our flashlights were the only things that provided any sort of illumination. At first glance, we assumed it was a drug addict who killed his dealer for the sake of his next fix. That was until he turned to look at us, with fresh blood coating his mouth and both of his hands. In his right hand, he held the spleen of the deceased man laying before him. His pale, blonde hair was almost completely hidden by the black hood that he was wearing.**

 **His sclera's (the white parts of his eyes, for those who don't know) were pure black, and contrasted with his piercing, red pupils. This is what's known as the kakugan, and is the single most distinguishing feature that separates ghouls and humans. Well, one of many distinguishing features, actually. But, back to the story.**

 **For whatever reason, he was alarmed by our presence, probably thinking that we were part of the CCG. He reacted quickly, digging his hand into the corpse before him, scooped up a handful of blood and splashed it right in our faces with precision and accuracy. Our sense sight was completely cut off, leaving us with only our senses of touch and sound. We definitely didn't want to use our senses of taste, in case the blood slid down to our mouths. Thankfully, it didn't, but that didn't make the situation any less severe. Our ears soon picked up on the sound of running footsteps coming in our direction, and before I realized it, I was forcibly shoved into a wall, and landed hard on my left knee, thus bringing back the limp that I thought I'd gotten rid of in the time that I came to know Sherlock.**

 **Speaking of the consulting detective, he was quick to come to my aid, and wipe the blood off of my face with the handkerchief he'd had in his pocket. I could also tell that he did the same thing to his own face, making absolutely sure that every ounce of the dead man's blood was gone from the surface of his skin. When I looked around me, I found nothing depicting where the ghoul may have run off to. Sherlock, as if reading my mind confirmed this to be so. Altogether I was relieved that we were safe, worried that we may me marked for death, should the ghoul come back for us, and annoyed that my limp had come back after so long.**


	2. Chapter 2

John continued silently reading to himself, so far, satisfied with what he'd written when he heard the lock on the door, to the living room of their flat begin to rattle. He turned his head around slightly, but still kept his eyes on the computer screen At the very right hand corner of the screen, on the digital clock it read 2:32. There was a fifty fifty chance that it was either Sherlock, or Mrs. Hudson again. Either way, John was in no position to stop his reading; unless it was actually Sherlock, then he'd be compelled to stop. When the rattling stopped and the door came open, John turned around only to see the consulting detective himself dressed in his usual long jacket, with his blue scarf around his neck. His left hand was shoved deep inside his pocket, while the right one was clutching a bag that he could only assume contained more human body parts for the refrigerator. His countenance displayed its usual bored indifference after solving a case, but this time, it was slightly glazed over by a touch of uncertainty and fatigue. John noticed this, but decided not to keep his remarks to himself.

"So, how was your day?" John asked. Sherlock regarded him with a silent shrug of his shoulders, and moved toward the kitchen. John could only raise his eyebrows in surprise and watch Sherlock from his seat in front of his laptop. As he predicted, the consulting detective was removing dismembered body parts, wrapped in plastic from the bag and making room for them in the refrigerator. His back was to John, so his facial expression, while doing it was unreadable. From where he was seated, John could make out an arm, a foot, a spleen, a liver, and a heart, all of which were probably collected from the crime scene that Sherlock just came from. The sight of the dismembered organs did nothing to faze John, but what really surprised him was the fact that they came straight from the crime scene itself, seeing as the blood was still fresh on the plastic, and dismembered organs were usually thrown in the crematorium at St. Bart's; so they couldn't have come from the morgue. This peaked John's interest.

"I thought Anderson would be against the idea of you taking evidence from his crime scenes? Isn't he worried about you contaminating it?" He asked. At the sound of this, Sherlock turned to look at his flat mate, with bored indifference still displayed on his face.

"Yes, well with all the rampant ghoul activity going on throughout the city, even Anderson is getting desperate for answers. That includes excepting my help. Don't know why it took an entire species of inhuman killers for him to finally take my word as gospel, but who knows, and who cares." He said. With that final remark, Sherlock closed the refrigerator with a satisfying slam, having deposited the last body part. He pulled loose the scarf around his neck, and turned to move toward his bedroom. Once again, John was at a loss for words, for Sherlock's cynical remarks, but he definitely found it interesting that Anderson would actually accept Sherlock's help on a case, given their previous animosity. John merely raised his eyebrows, and turned back to his computer, though not exactly looking at it, but looking out the window at the everyday London scenery. It seemed as though the ghouls presence was changing everything around London. There was a new police system in place, people were in a state of uncertainty as to who they could trust, and now Sherlock and Anderson were starting to get along. That would be about the only thing that John was liking about this situation.

When Sherlock reappeared, his coat and scarf were gone, leaving him in only his button down blue shirt, black pants, and black socks. He sat in his usual seat, in front of the kitchen, crossing one of his legs over his knee, taking a more relaxed posture, though his countenance showed that he was in deep thought, as always. John turned to look at him, waiting for him to begin a lengthy conversation about the case, but nothing came. He should have expected this kind of behavior from his flat mate, but after a case like this, he'd thought Sherlock would be talking up a storm. A pregnant silence engulfed the two of them for another 5 minutes, with the only sound being the faint tapping of John's fingers on his knee caps. As it looked like Sherlock wasn't willing to talk, John started the conversation with the first topic that came to mind.

"So, I'm almost done typing up this latest case." He said. At the sound of this Sherlock turned to look at John with raised slightly raised eyebrows.

"Oh. I imagine your readers will eat this one up. Though, not the way the ghouls eat us up." He said. John rolled his eyes at that last statement, choosing to ignore, as this was just Sherlock's standard way of making conversation. In what seemed like an afterthought, Sherlock looked back at John, glaring suspicious daggers in his direction.

"You didn't include the part about my incredulity, did you?" He asked. If looks could kill, John would be another corpse on a slab for Molly to examine. Such was the way that Sherlock was staring at him. John showed Sherlock the palms of his hands, thought they still rested on his knees, as if showing a gesture of defeat.

"No, I didn't include anything about your being scared". He said, rolling his eyes. Sherlock' suspicious glares were sustained for a few more seconds before he finally settled back into his former comfortable position in his chair. John let out a short sigh and turned back to his laptop. He read over his work for 5 more minutes before he continued typing up the conclusion. Sherlock ignored him for as long as he could, until the sound of John's fingers dancing across the keyboard provoked him to stand up from his seat, and look over John's shoulder at his work. Sherlock rolled his eyes and released a sigh of frustration.

"Oh, for God sakes, John. Did you really have to include that part?" He asked. John looked back at him in confusion as to what he was complaining about this time.

"What have I done wrong now?" He asked. Sherlock simply reached out his hand and pointed to one of the typed paragraphs on the screen, outlining it with his finger, and quoting the lines.

…"Speaking of the consulting detective, he was quick to come to my aid, and wipe the blood off of my face with the handkerchief he'd had in his pocket. I could also tell that he did the same thing to his own face, making absolutely sure that every ounce of the dead man's blood was gone from the surface of his skin…" Is it really that difficult for you to read over your own writing, John?". He asked, irritated. Said flat mate was at a loss as to what Sherlock was talking about, until it finally dawned upon him that the only thing that worried Sherlock more than people knowing he was afraid of a ghoul, was the misconception of people thinking he and John were a couple; wiping each other's faces with the same handkerchiefs and staring lovingly into each others eyes. Realizing this, John's eyes widened slightly as looked back and forth between the screen and his flat mate, unsure of what to say. But as far as Sherlock was concerned, there was no need for words, as John's eyes were speaking volumes.

"Look, John, it's your blog. Do with it what you will, just don't give your readers false hope. That's the last thing they need at a time like this." He said. With that, he turned and walked into the kitchen for a cup of tea. John was left staring at the empty space that Sherlock had just departed from, and scoffed at the thought that even his more intelligent readers would fall under such a ridiculous notion simply from one sentence. Of course, a lot of people had more than a few theories about his relationship with Sherlock being more than professional, and way beyond platonic. Just the thought of it made John quickly shake his head dismissively, and go back to typing the rest of his entry, determined to see it through to the end. When he finally finished his pressed **Submit** , and sat back thoroughly pleased with himself, and waiting for the people of London to read over his latest adventure with Sherlock.

The aforementioned consulting detective was still in the kitchen, leaving John to his own devices for the time being. Seeing the time again, John saw that it was now 4:00. This Saturday was moving slower than normal, but the only thing that they could do was wait until it ended. When Sherlock came back into the living room, he had a cup of tea in his left hand, he picked up his violin with his right hand, and moved to sit in his chair, facing the kitchen. John looked at him from out of his peripheral vision, but other than that paid him no mind. He opened another tab on his laptop and scanned the internet, reading various news stories that ranged from international, to national, to local affairs, all of which seemed to talk about how to handle the ghoul population. It seemed as thought the media couldn't find anything else to talk about. Making money off of the innocent people who've lost their lives, and the families torn apart by grief. John found himself wondering who were the real monsters here. He continued reading for a good five minutes before he grew a bit depressed by all of the gruesome deaths, and closed out of that tab, leaving only the one on his blog open.

He got up from his seat and moved toward the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea, not even sparring a glance at Sherlock. It wasn't long before the sound of a beautifully played violin filled the air, but as this was still standard Sherlock behavior, John let it go over his head. When he returned with his own cup of tea, he noticed that Sherlock was glancing at his laptop, seeing the comments that were coming in.

"So as always, I see your blog is booming with comments about our latest case. Hopefully your readers will regard this one as a cautionary tale, instead of the usual action packed dribble that you've grown accustomed to writing". He said sarcastically. Hearing this, John set down his cup of tea, and moved to where his laptop was sitting. As Sherlock had said, comments were coming in by the minute. As he also said these comments were regarding the attacks that have been plaguing the city.

BonnieBunni: I get where you're coming from. The way things are headed ,I'm scared to go out at night.

HueManatee: Remember the good ol' days when the London Streets were safe?

HannahtheHobbit: Glad to know that the two of you are okay. Do your best to keep our streets safe, the CCG isn't moving fast enough.

DickthedestroyerofWorlds: If only the ghouls would make themselves useful and kill the criminals and bad guys.

As John read through the comments, the last one that he saw had him raising his eyebrows in interest. Sherlock noticed this and turned to look at the laptop. He skimmed the comments until he came across the last comment on the blog. Now he too was raising one of his eyebrows in interest.

"Looks like I was right, your readers aren't as small minded as I originally thought they were. They're even more idiotic for posting rubbish comments like these." He said. Once again, John was furrowing his eyebrows together in confusion. Of course there were the occasional comments whose contents were unsavory enough to be taken down almost immediately, but whatever Sherlock was implying was not getting through to him.

"What could you possible be getting at this time? Personally, I kind of agree with this chap."Said John. Now Sherlock was now looking at him incredulously, as if John had suddenly morphed into a carbon copy of Moriarty. He couldn't understand what Sherlock was so shocked about, and tried to defend his point.

"Look, this might sound a bit pessimistic, but with everything that I've seen in Afghanistan, I'd say that these ghouls have got us backed into a corner, even with Mycroft's people on the hunt. Of course, we'd be better off without them, but unless they do decide to start killing people who genuinely deserve it, we humans are pretty much at the bottom of the food chain". He concluded. Sherlock's previous look of shock was now one of indifference, as he simply raised one of his eyebrows and went back to plucking the strings of his violin. At this, John couldn't help but be confused, expecting his flat mate to have some kind of comeback to John's "less than intelligent" statement.

"Well?" He asked Sherlock. Said flat mate glanced in his direction with one eyebrow still raised.

"Well what?" He responded. John glanced between Sherlock and his laptop expectantly, whilst tapping his fingers on his knee cap.

"This is usually the part where you give some cynical, smart ass remark." He said. But Sherlock simply plucked away at his violin strings, not even looking at John anymore, but looking off into space. Another 5 minutes went by without another word from Sherlock. Now John was thoroughly confused

"Sherlock? Anyone home?" He asked. The consulting detective finally acknowledged John's presence with a simple look in his general direction.

"Yes, what is it?" He asked. John regarded him with the same expectant gaze that he wore before.

"Anything to say? About what I just said, with the ghouls and humanity, and whatnot?" He inquired. Sherlock plucked at one more string on his violin, before giving his answer.

"What do you want me to say other than that I agree with you?" He responded. John's eyes almost immediately widened in shock.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I want to apologize in advance for the tangent that this story is going to end on. Schoolwork and homework have be by the throat, so expect slow updates until further notice. Sherlock and Tokyo Ghoul do not belong to me, but to their respective owners.**

The last time that he was truly at a loss for words, and left standing in bewilderment, was when he and Sherlock first met, and the consulting detective deduced his entire back story just by looking at him. Everything in between that time and now just integrated itself into his daily life. Now here he was again, staring at Sherlock in the only way that he could, in pure astonishment and amazement at Sherlock's extraordinary intellect, and outstanding abilities of deduction.

The only thing that made this time seem better than the others, was the fact that the consulting detective agreed with him on something. Sherlock could feel John's stare lingering on him and turned toward his flat mate, slightly annoyed.

"Look, I understand that you're flabbergasted at the notion of me agreeing with you on something, but do try not to gawk like a school girl whose infatuated with her professor. It's bad enough that people suspect our relationship is less than platonic, no thanks to the rubbish that you post on your blog. The last thing we want to do is add oxygen to the media fire, and that of the ignorance of the masses". He said. John was inclined to ignore the part about him being compared to a lovesick school girl, still wanting to discover what it was about his comment that compelled Sherlock to agree with him.

"I'm sorry, but I'm still trying to figure out what I said exactly that would make you agree with me". He Said. In response to this, Sherlock set his violin aside and exhaled a breath.

"What you said about humanity's future at the hands of the ghouls. You hit the nail on the head. Even with Mycroft's more than effective help." He said. He rolled his eyes when saying more than effective. John remained silent, but shook his head in agreement. Sherlock saw this as a chance to continue with his point and took it.

"And even it wasn't the ghouls killing us, it's war, disease, famine, and death itself. Constantly looming over us and dealing us a cruel, unapologetic hand, one life at a time." He said. Once again, John shook his head in agreement with Sherlock, no matter how cynical his statement was. That being said, Sherlock set his violin aside and moved toward his bedroom. He didn't look back at John to until he was close to the doorframe. At which point, he turned to his flat mate.

"When it all comes down to it, you can't point a finger at either humans, or ghouls. We're all to blame." He said. Sherlock made his way into his room, quietly closing the door behind him. John's silence was confirmation of his agreement with Sherlock, as he though back to the online articles that he read about the constant ghoul activities, mingling with stories about rapes, homicides, and corruption, all involving humans. Both species caught in a vicious cycle of man kills ghoul and ghoul kills man, trying to justify their actions, and clear their consciences by saying that their enemies deserve what's coming to them. It was just as Sherlock had said: there was no one to point a finger at.

John momentarily ceased his train of thought to look at the time, seeing that it was nearly 5:30, with the afternoon slowly and eventually giving way to the evening. He looked out the window to confirm that the sun was slowly disappearing behind the horizon, leaving only a glimmer of sunlight left. Chances are, there was going to be another ghoul attack tonight. Assuming anyone is unlucky enough to be caught out on the streets past sun down. But that would only be determined by the events of tomorrow. That being said, John stood up and exited the living room to go to his own room, laptop in tow.

* * *

Sure enough, John was right. When he turned on the T.V the next morning, the first thing he saw was a new story on the news about another mangled human corpse. In the midst of his morning routine, John turned his attention to the TV and watched the story unfold.

 **Earlier this morning, another dismembered corpse was found in the alleyway of a well known pub on Shaftesbury Avenue. From what could be identified through the victim's DNA, the deceased is believed to be convicted drug dealer Anthony Murdock, released on parole last year. Traces of ghoul saliva was found on Murdock's corpse. Specifically around the frontal lobe of his head where a small but noticeable chunk of his brain as bitten off. More info on this later on. In other news-**

"John!" The shouting of his name forced the former soldier to turn his attention away from the TV to see Sherlock entering the kitchen, preparing to put in his coat. His blue scarf was already around his neck, but not in it's usual fashion. John picked up the remote to mute the audio, as Sherlock crossed over into the living room, adjusting the blue cloth to the style he wanted. John motioned to the TV and looked at Sherlock expectantly on news about their latest case.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: The characters contained within this story do not belong to me, but to BBC, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle**.

 **Previously:** "John!" The shouting of his name forced the former soldier to turn his attention away from the TV to see Sherlock entering the kitchen, preparing to put in his coat. His blue scarf was already around his neck, but not in it's usual fashion. John picked up the remote to mute the audio, as Sherlock crossed over into the living room, adjusting the blue cloth to the style he wanted. John motioned to the TV and looked at Sherlock expectantly on news about their latest case.

* * *

 **Now:** "So another ghoul related incident I'm guessing. Off to the crime scene then?" He asked. Sherlock simply pulled his jacket onto his body and pulled his phone out of one of the pockets, checking the time.

"Right now, no. Lestrade and Donovan are in a press conference with the media hounds and won't be finished until later. This case is being looked at by another detective inspector who I don't care to meet. So for the time being, we have the morning off". He said. Despite hearing this, John furrowed his brow at the sight of Sherlock's coat.

"So then why are you dressed to go out?" Asked John. Sherlock simply deposited his phone back into his pocket and looked back at the TV despite it's lack of sound. John was also dressed to go outside, but he was under the assumption that it was for the sake of a case.

"Because right now, I'm going off to St. Bart's to see if Molly has anymore corpses for me to look into". He said. With this in mind, John turned off the TV and moved to grab his own jacket. As he placed it on his shoulders, his flat mate stared at him quizzically. "What are you doing?" Asked Sherlock.

"Well, I'm going with you. Can't stay cooped up in here forever. Besides, I could use the exercise for my limp". He said. Sherlock knew that it'd be pointless arguing with the former soldier, so he turned on his heels, and made for the door to leave the flat, with John in tow. The taxi ride to St. Bart's felt longer than it should have, with a pregnant silence engulfing the car. Sherlock appeared to be within the confines of his mind palace, leaving John with his own thoughts. As the taxi stopped at a red light, John took the time to look out the window and really survey his surroundings.

A café that was bustling with business as people filled the inside and outside seats. A school that had an ocean of kids coming in, ready to start their day. And a grocery store that at was open for business. Even if the city was now a feeding ground for an entire species of ravenous beasts, John wanted to hold on to the fleeting idea that London was no better than it was before the ghouls appeared, thinking back to the conversation that he had with Sherlock, not to mention his time as a military doctor, even if they hardly seemed related. Anyone optimistic enough would argue that in a year, or so the ghouls would disappear from the earth, and be a story for the history books. But John didn't have the privilege of calling himself optimistic. Before long, the two of them made their way into St Barts. and straight down to the morgue to see Molly.

Walking down the long hallway, John took note of how many CCG officers were around, interviewing grieving families about their deceased kin. The aura that they carried about them was almost as intense as their dark trench coats. And especially the briefcases that they carried with them, no doubt containing their quinques. Just about the only thing that could kill a ghoul was the kagune of another ghoul, thus leading to the harvesting of ghoul corpses after they've been killed, for the soul purpose of detaching their weapons from their bodies, killing and harvesting other ghouls for their own kagunes, and repeating the cycle all over again. The corpses were just as messy as a human death, but so long as it was one more ghoul wiped off the earth, no one really cared. All it was, was further justification for Sherlock's previous statement about the cruelty that this world dishes out for both species. John was quick to come out of his reverie once he and Sherlock approached the elevator. Since the ride down was a short one, Sherlock choose now to speak.

"Can you not do that so loud, it's deafening". He said. John looked at him quizzically before he took a moment to catch on to what he was referring to. In the time that they've been flat mates, John managed to pick up on certain quirks and habits that Sherlock was accustomed to doing, no matter how unpredictable, or much of a high functioning sociopath he claimed to be. His favorite one was to comment on how loud John's thinking was, whatever that was supposed to mean. The more that it came up, the more John was able to call his flat mate out on it, just the same. This was one of those times. John rolled his eyes in exasperation before responding.

"Oh let me guess, am I thinking too loud for your fast paced brain?" The sarcasm that dripped off of his words did nothing to faze the consulting detective, but he still responded to John, with raised eyebrows.

"Yes. Good work, John". Before John could find the words to respond, the bell above them chimed and elevator doors came open on their floor. Naturally Sherlock was the first one to exit the leave it, with John in tow. As soon as they entered the morgue, the consulting detective immediately took notice of the three lifeless corpses that laid on individual slabs, completely covered by the body bags, not even looking at Molly who'd just finished putting away a bone saw. The longing look that was in her eyes went unnoticed by Sherlock, but it didn't stop her from trying to start a conversation.

"Sherlock, hi. I wasn't expecting you until later on this week. Everything okay?" Sherlock moved around the morgue, looking at various tools, and chemicals that were neatly organized, not even looking in her direction. Meanwhile, John stayed glued to one spot. When he finally acknowledged her, it was for the sake of the motionless carcasses. He pointed to them before looking over at Molly.

"The bodies, how fresh are they since they've been taken from the crime scene?" Almost immediately, Molly came over to the first corpse to the left, and pulled back the zipper for Sherlock to examine it further.

"About 48 hours. I didn't do much too much to it, knowing that you'd want to take the first stab". The smile that she wore was meant to be reassuring, but Sherlock just gave her another sideways glance and took a magnifying glass to the corpse. The head and neck were virtually unharmed, if not caked in a bit of dried blood, but looking further down, he could see the carnage that befell the chest, sternum, and stomach. The skin had been ripped open and pulled apart in a messy attempt to reach the lungs heart, and various other organs. Which was done successfully. The ribcage had been all but decimated, save for a few broken shards. Among the organs that were gone were the large and small intestines, liver, pancreas, and half of the heart.

When he pulled the bag back further, Sherlock noticed that the entire left arm was also missing. However, the legs were still intact. Taking the magnifying glass to the shoulder area where the arm was missing, Sherlock noticed the teeth marks that littered the skin. While this was made to look like an animal attack, the human imprints that showed up were painfully obvious to the consulting detective. John stayed where he was, giving Sherlock the space he needed to work. He noticed Molly on the other side of the morgue, fiddling with something that didn't actually need her attention, but served as a distraction to not look longingly at Sherlock. When the consulting detective finally addressed her again, she must have jumped at least three feet in the air.

"Did you identify them yet?" He asked. Molly practically fast walked over to where he was, but no before she picked a clipboard from off of a table and handed it to Sherlock, who lowered the magnifying glass.

"All three of them were local college students. Toxicology report showed heavy traces of alcohol in their bloodstreams. Looks like they were powerless to fight their way out of this one". That sentence alone had both John and Sherlock raising their eyebrows in irony. But Sherlock was the one to make a comment out of it.

"Them and everyone else in London. What else?" He asked. Molly stayed glued to her spot, but occasionally bounced on the toes of her feet.

"Well nothing important. Ordinary kids, college students, never hurt anyone a day in their lives. But apparently that didn't matter to whatever ghoul did this". She finished solemnly. Sherlock remained unfazed by her words, whilst continuing to look over the clipboard and glancing back at the bodies.

"And in due time, that ghoul's reason for doing this isn't going to matter to the investigator who makes a new quinque out of him". He said. John tried, but failed to suppress the chuckle that escaped him. Molly gave a brief shrug of her shoulders, and took a look at the bodies in wonder.

"I don't know. Maybe there was a tiny bit of reason behind it. I mean take away the menacing red eyes, the abnormal predatory organ, and ghouls can't be that different from humans, right? All doing what we have to do to stay alive in a world with a thousand ways to die, am I right?" Her final words were coupled with a humorous smile and a chuckle that was meant to be followed by one from John, and maybe even one from Sherlock, God willing. But all it got her were odd glances from both men, as if she'd sprouted a kagune of her own. And even more so, a disapproving look from Sherlock.

"For all your skills as a pathologist Molly, your sense of humor is severely lacking. Don't make jokes. It doesn't suit you." He said. She could only hang her head in shame, as Sherlock carelessly tossed the clip board on top of the body. Of all the times that John could have given a helping hand to the situation now was definitely a great one.

"Is there anything else you wanted to show us, Molly?" He asked, while placing a gentle palm on her shoulder. As quickly as her sadness had come, it was masked by joy, and contentment.

"No that's pretty much it. I'll keep in touch if anything does come up." She said. John nodded his head, and directed his attention to his flat mate, who was playing with the tag tied to one of the dead men's feet.

"When you're ready, Sherlock, I know a place where we can stop for some breakfast". Sherlock ignored him for another minute before, proceeding to zip up the bag, and make his way out the door, without even a sideways' glance at Molly, who watched him leave out of her peripheral vision. John took this opportunity to speak for himself and Sherlock, and gave her a warm smile.

"Thanks for your help Molly, as always…and if it's any consolation, I get where you're coming from with the whole ghoul situation". He said. She flashed a warm smile of her own, feeling a slight boost of confidence.

"It's no trouble at all, doctor. I only wish Sherlock could see it the way we do". John fell silent, opting not to mention the fright that Sherlock had in encountering his first ghoul, and patted Molly on the shoulder one last time, before giving a final goodbye, and exiting the morgue.


	5. Chapter 5

Because the café that John frequented when he wasn't with Sherlock was within a reasonable distance from the hospital, the logical thing to do was take a cab, get their breakfast, and take another one back to 221 B. As the cab drove down the bustling streets of London, John looked out of the window; eyes scanning over the numerous faces of people going about their lives; from the business men with their impeccable suits and briefcases, to the teenagers laughing and joking together in their cliques.

Then there were the mothers with their small children about to embark on a trip to the supermarket. Each stranger that he saw peaked John's curiosity. How many of them were humans? And how many of them were ghouls? If any of them were ghouls, do they have jobs like humans? Do they feed on the humans who call themselves my friends? Can a ghoul and a human ever truly be together? The last question was a little off topic, but it wasn't one that he was expecting an answer to anytime soon. His train of thought was broken by the voice of his flat mate.

"Stop that." Said Sherlock. John furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, and turned to the blue eyed genius. "Stop what?" He asked. Sherlock regarded him with his usual look of indifference and apathy. By now, the cab had stopped near their destination.

"You're thinking again and it's wearing on my nerves". Said Sherlock. John just rolled his eyes having become immune to Sherlock's drama king tendencies and climbed out of the cab, with his flat mate in tow. The former soldier looked around the area they were in, searching for the afore mentioned café. All the while, Sherlock kept talking.

"So is this café meant to be the rendezvous spot for you and your girlfriends, or do you go there to ruminate on the state of the world, and all of that rubbish?" He asked callously. When John turned back to him, it was with a small smirk on his lips.

"Not this time. Today, I'm with you". He responded. With that, he turned on his heels and walked away from hid flat mate, across the street to a two story brown building. It was adorned with tall glass windows and a red banner with white writing on it. It read out in beautiful cursive, Ami Innatendu. In Sherlock's mind he quickly translated it as French for unexpected friend. The consulting detective raised an eyebrow in inquiry and followed behind John who made his way inside the building. When Sherlock caught up to him, his eyes scanned the interior of the café.

The four walls were a warm mahogany color, almost like brown sugar. The western side of the shop displayed the main counter were coffee was being served to whoever was sitting at the long table that connected to said counter. A little off to the side of it was a door that read Staff Only. In front of that door was a cash register that was occupied by two people. One was the employee manning it, and the other was John himself. The eastern side contained more tables as well as a large glass window that displayed the streets of London in all of it's' splendor. The northern end that Sherlock was facing gave way to more tables and a wall that most likely lead to a restroom. All in all, it seemed like any other coffee shop he'd been to in England, or anywhere else.

An establishment that decorated itself in warm colors and friendly faces to mask the fact that the employees were overworked, underpaid, and probably abused by the patrons who frequent it, while the manager rakes in the profits and grows wealthy on the backs of their employee's labor. However, there was always room for further deduction. John came up to the consulting detective and motioned the two of them towards one of the tables near the window. When they were seated, John immediately took up one of the decorative menus looking for what he wanted to eat, while Sherlock still upheld his cold analytical gaze. The former soldier glanced back and forth between his flat mate and the items on the menu until he finally set it down on the table.

"Okay, I know that this may be difficult, even with your genius level intellect, but for once can you take a day off and enjoy a simple breakfast? At least until Lestrade calls with something regarding the case". He said. Sherlock looked back at him like a child that had just received a minor scolding from their parents. But it didn't last long as he picked up a menu of his own and began reading it's contents.

"Assuming Lestrade finds something that can't be found by an amateur cop, like the ones working under his command". He responded. John raised an eyebrow in silent agreement before he looked back at the menu in front of him for what he wanted, finally deciding on a cappuccino.

"Or maybe the CCG". Said John as an afterthought. Sherlock looked back at his flat mate and gave a chuckle, thinking of Mycroft. For all of his brother's power and influence as MI-5, Mycroft was just as disturbed by the presence of the ghouls as Sherlock, Lestrade, or anyone else in power. The two of them were engulfed in a brief silence until John decided to bring up their previous conversation with Molly at St. Bart's'.

"You know Molly did bring up a pretty good point about the ghouls". He said. Sherlock looked at him with one eyebrow raised in confusion. John began to elaborate.

"Even if humans are doomed to receive their just desserts at the hands of the ghouls, if you take away their kagunes and red eyes, they can't be that different from us. I only wish that I live long enough to encounter a ghoul that may be even have a sliver of humility". He said. Sherlock said nothing and just stared at his flat mate with a look that was completely unreadable to John. He didn't even look back at the menu but just gazed at his roommate with that same tame expression. If tame was the correct word to describe the consulting detective. But given the circumstances that they and the whole U.K. were in, not to mention Sherlock's first real encounter with a live flesh eating ghoul, vapid wasn't a bad word to use. John tried to uphold his flat mate's stare until their table was approached by their waitress.

John vaguely remembered seeing her when he was here before, but now that he had a good chance to look at her, he wished that he'd noticed her more often. She couldn't have been more than 18, with black hair that was tied up in a neat pony tail with a few strands of hair hanging in front of her face. Her eyes were a clear shade of green that were framed by her heart shaped face, pale skin, and the small smile as she stood with pen and pad ready to take their orders. Her attire was that of a typical cafe waitresses as she wore a tight fitting button down shirt, black pencil skirt, both covered by her brown apron, black tights, and black flat shoes.

And plainly visible on her one of the straps of her apron was a white name tag that read out in bold black letters Anita.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: All characters associated with Sherlock do not belong to me. The only character that does is Anita.**

 **Previously:** Her attire was that of a typical cafe waitress as she wore a tight fitting button down white shirt, black pencil skirt, brown apron that stopped at her thighs, black tights, and black flat shoes. Plainly visible on her one of the straps of her apron was a white name tag that read out in bold black letters **Anita.**

* * *

 **Now:** The smile that she wore was small but it was genuine, clearly she was glad to be doing her job unlike most young people.

"How are we today, gents? Are we ready to order?" She asked. John was the first to order, giving one last looks at Sherlock and clearing his throat.

"Good morning, dear. I'll just have a small cappuccino and one BLT please". John returned her smile and looked over at Sherlock seeing that his flat mate's eyes were more focused on something behind John than giving his order to their waitress. She too took notice of this and gently inquired the consulting detective.

"Sir, are you ready to order?" She asked. Anita then looked followed his stare to see that he was watching the TV that for some reason had been set to mute, but was turned to a news broadcast about another grisly murder; possibly the work of another ghoul. Without looking at either John or Anita, Sherlock relayed what he wanted.

"Tea. Black with two sugars….and whatever the murderer of that poor soul was having". As he said this, Sherlock gestured a single finger to the television and the image of the blood stained sheet that covered the corpse. He also had the pleasure of experiencing a harsh kick to the calf from the former soldier sitting across from him.

"He's just joking dear. Pay him no mind". John's words of reassurance were met with silence as Anita's smile was now gone and in it's place was an expression of mild discomfort.

"I don't know about that last thing, but I'll be back soon with your orders'. She said with her smile back on her lips again; only this one wasn't as genuine as before. With that, she turned on her heels and made her way to the other side of the counter. John once again traded smiles with their waitress until he decided to look at the consulting detective with a less happy gaze.

"What was that about? Now she probably thinks that she's servicing a ghoul". Said John slightly irritated. Sherlock was now more surprised expression as opposed to his previous stoic, countenance while he watched TV.

"Just a little bit of dark humor for an even darker period of time". He said as thought he was talking about the weather. John could only shake his head and let out a mild sigh.

"Whatever. I would tell you to keep it to yourself, but silence isn't exactly part of your vernacular, even with that oversized mind of yours". Those words alone silenced the consulting detective, despite the fact that he looked like a kicked puppy.

* * *

15 minutes went by and the two flat mates spent it eating their food as Anita brought it out to them, watching TV, and even witnessing a minor altercation between Anita and some of the other patrons in the cafe. Specifically two men. One was a dirty blonde with green eyes and thick stubble, who seemed a bit rough around the edges; the other was a redhead with equally green eyes and a small bit of freckles on the bridge of his nose.

Both Sherlock and John took quick notice of the men's postures and builds and came to the conclusion that they were both former soldiers. The blonde seemed eager to get Anita's number, asking her when her shift ended, and telling her how pretty she was. Meanwhile his friend just sized up her appearance. On more than one occasion, John witnessed the blonde guy observing Anita's rear end each time that she walked past their table. His hands seemed eager to reach out and grab it, but instead he settled with a fairly large tip, a lecherous grin, and wink in her direction. Eventually, he and his friend left the establishment.

On the outside, Anita seemed to hold it together well, but John's military training regarding body language told him that her blood must have been boiling at the unwanted flirtation. Sherlock deduced the same thing, but neither of them wanted to start an altercation, especially if nothing major was happening. When she came back with their bill, John was quick to come to her aid.

"Hey, we saw what was going on with those guys. Is everything alright?" He asked. Anita shook her head and exhaled a sigh of exhaustion, as though she was struggling to breath. She wiped her hands on her apron before responding.

'I'm fine. This is the second time I've had to deal with those guys. The blonde kept going on about showing me his 'massive 'gun collection from his time in the army". She created air quotation marks with her fingers at the words massive gun before continuing.

"I can't tell them off without sounding like a bitchy waitress". She responded somberly. Sherlock's lack of experience with harassment cases would only make the situation worse, but he kept his eyes firmly locked on Anita. As she spoke, more and more deductions about her began to flash in front of his eyes.

 **18 years old. Has a younger brother. Is a High school graduate. Has No college experience. Is Hard working, Loyal, Compassionate...** He glanced at the words as they came and went, and still tried to hear hers and John's conversation, especially when he brought up his military background.

"I'm sorry that you had to go through that. I can personally tell you as a former soldier, that we're not all like that". He said caringly. But Anita just shook her head, all the while still waiting for their bill. Which Sherlock attended to whilst keeping his ears open.

"I couldn't care less about their status, it's their foolishness and lack of tact that pissed me off". She said. Before John could ask, she elaborated further.

"They told me that I looked more appetizing than the food that I placed in front of them. And of course the blonde guy just had to lick his lips while doing it". She said coldly. Even Sherlock seemed stunned at that last statement as he briefly paused in reaching for his wallet to pay for the meal. John merely shook his head in annoyance at the crassness of his gender. He observed Sherlock deposit the money and slid the bill towards Anita and reached into his own wallet to give her a 20 pound tip.

"Here you go. This is for putting up with those idiots from earlier". Said John with a small smile, similar to the one that Anita gave him throughout her service to them. Sherlock thanked her as well and began to put his coat on. Anita returned John's smile for what felt like the umpteenth time that day.

"You have a good day, Gents". She said. With that she turned and walked back to the register to deposit the money. John and Sherlock made their way out the door, as Anita was tending to another customer.

* * *

The two flatmates spent what remained of the day walking around London, seeing as how Lestrade hadn't called with anything new yet, and they've already examined the necessary bodies. It seemed silly to just go back to the flat when it was only the early afternoon, so John and Sherlock resigned themselves to walking around the vast streets; that is until they were intercepted by an all too familiar woman. Within seconds they were in the unmarked black car with Anthea typing away on her phone. And within half an hour, the they were in Mycroft's home.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: The characters from BBC Sherlock do not belong to me, nor do concepts from the anime Tokyo Ghoul that are used. The only thing that I claim ownership of is Anita. **

**In the previous chapter:** The two flatmates spent what remained of the day walking around London, seeing as how Lestrade hadn't called with anything new yet, and they've already examined the necessary bodies. It seemed silly to just go back to the flat when it was only the early afternoon, so John and Sherlock resigned themselves to walking around the vast streets; that is until they were intercepted by an all too familiar woman. Within seconds they were in the unmarked black car with Anthea typing away on her phone. And within half an hour, the they were in Mycroft's home.

* * *

 **Now:** By the time the two of them arrived at Mycroft's home, the sun was preparing to set before the horizon, which means that any ghouls that were hiding in plane sight were now preparing to prowl the streets for their next meal. With any luck, they might run into a human criminal, or two. The exterior of Mycroft's mansion was armed to the teeth with guards; both military personnel and CCG agents; All of whom let the two men and one woman enter once they were properly cleared. Additionally added to Mycroft's security detail was a scanner that would record the DNA of anyone who walked through it, identifying them as either a ghoul or human. There was literally no way around it, and if someone were foolish enough to try, they would be turned over to the guards. Naturally, John and Sherlock passed through the scanner with no problem and were escorted to Mycroft's also heavily fortified office.

Despite the vast security detail, the interior of the office seemed to be the only homely part of the house thus far. Various couches littered the enormous space, complimenting the red painted walls that were hung with photos of influential people throughout British history. A fresh fire crackled in the fire place, and bathed the room in a dim, but warm glow. In the corner, near the fire place sat a tall standing suit of armor that was equipped with a sword in it's sheath and a briefcase at it's feet; as though it was Mycroft's twisted way of insinuating that even the inanimate suit was wall aware of the dire situation that England was in. Like any CCG agent, the briefcase more than likely held a quinque. Sherlock noticed the look that John was giving the suitcase and went to look upon it himself.

"No, Mycroft's not the one who put it there, I did". He said. John immediately looked at his flat mate, and then at the suitcase, and back to his Sherlock. This staring contests between the two objects continued for another second before John finally asked.

"Do I even want to know why?" Before Sherlock could give his answer, Mycroft entered the doorway of his office.

"A crude joke that he left behind after a video meeting that we had with the CCG in Japan. One of the head investigators was briefing us on the use of quinques". He said. John immediately took a seat at one of the cushy chairs facing the vast mahogany desk and Sherlock quickly followed suit.

"And I'm guessing you brought me hear to do the same since I work with your brother?" Asked John. Mycroft arched an eyebrow at the former soldier before he opened up the laptop that sat in front of him and quickly typed in his username and password. He typed on the thin keyboard for a few moments before turning it to face the two men before him. On the screen was a map of England with various red dots that encircled certain areas; some bigger than others. Some of the dots encircled alleyways and abandoned buildings and others were heavily populated areas like Shaftsbury Avenue or the London Aquarium. In the right hand corner of the screen was a time stamp with the date from a week ago. Myrcoft's voice broke both men's train of thought.

"Have you gotten an eyeful? Good. Then take a look at this." He said. He clicked on the thin mouse and showed the same map, except the red dots on the screen were bigger and encircled areas such as colleges, and even a police station. The date and time stamp for this map was marked for two days ago. Seeing this made Sherlock's eyes furrow in deep concentration, while John looked in utter shock and astonishment. Astonishment that forced him to lean back in his seat and rub his hand over his face.

"Okay. So these red dots are, what? Locations where ghoul attacks have happened?" He asked, fearing that he might be right. His fear was confirmed when the older Holmes nodded his head.

"I'm afraid you couldn't be more right, Dr. Watson".He responded. The former soldier looked over at Sherlock who was now looking at his older brother. And what have you made of it so far, brother mine?" He asked, already knowing the answer. An answer that required Mycroft to shake his head and respond in the most fearful tone that either of the men sitting before him had ever heard.

"What I've made of it is that some kind of shadow organization is instructing these ghouls to kill whoever they can to show their strength, even going so far as to target major areas. And what I need is for the two of you to work more closely with Scotland Yard and the CCG officers that I have stationed there to put an end to whatever ghouls are causing these massacres." He said. Before John could ask another question, Mycroft turned his back to them and went to retrieve something from a table that John didn't see before. He walked back over to John and Sherlock and produced a smooth, silver suitcase that was wide in width as well as length. He opened it up to reveal two British army browning L9a1s.

Each one was equipped with at least four rounds of ammo. Sherlock didn't even wait a second before he reached for one of the guns and rounds of ammunition and loaded the magazine. John eventually did the same thing and waited for Mycroft to give some kind of explanation. Eventually he gave one after he closed his laptop.

"The bullets that are equipped with those guns are Q bullets. They contain a special melted down kagune coating that can stop ghouls in their tracks; each one caters to the specific kagune of a specific ghoul. However, their performance is decent compared to actual quniques, so use them sparingly should you encounter a ghoul". He explained. Sherlock played with the gun, practicing different shooting poses as though a ghoul were standing in front of him. John observed the other rounds of ammunition and deposited them in his pocket.

"You two will refrain from taking your usual clients and work on the cases that I give you". Said Mycroft in his strictest tone. A tone that Sherlock knew from when he was a child and was caught doing something that he wasn't supposed to. Only this was one incident that he couldn't afford to argue about. John slipped the gun in his coat and observed his flat mate still playing with the gun and eventually depositing the other rounds of ammunition in his coat pocket.

"So now we work for the British Government" asked John. Mycroft turned to look at him with a very slightly wry expression on his face.

"This shouldn't be that much different from your military service, Doctor Watson". He said. John was immediately taken aback by this statement, but chose to say nothing. Sherlock stayed silent and merely raised one of his eyebrows.

"I assume Lestrade and the rest of Scotland Yard has been made aware of this?" He asked. Mycroft looked to his younger brother with a more business like look with a tone to match.

"He has. And the investigation will begin first thing tomorrow". The Detective Inspector will give you more information. We'll be in touch." He said. With that, the two got up and began to leave, before John asked another question.

"Will we have to find our own way back or will we be carted back to 221B?" He asked. Of course, he was still smarting from the previous comment that Mycroft had made, but he needed to know before he decided to spend money on a cab. Mycroft wasn't looking at him, but at his laptop typing something.

"I'll have a car take you back. Its' waiting outside". He said tonelessly. John merely shook his head and left the office, following behind Sherlock.

* * *

The drive back to their flat was quite, as neither men said anything, especially not regarding Mycroft's remark about John's former military service taking a new form as a would be ghoul investigator. The car came to a red light and stopped near Ami Innatendu, which meant that flat was a little further away. John looked out the window and observed something that made him squint his eyes in both confusion and disbelief. Even in the dim light, he could almost make out the sigh of two tall men approaching a much smaller girl in an alley way near the cafe. While the men moved forwards, the girl moved backwards clearly not interested in whatever they wanted. John nudged Sherlock to look out the window at the sight, and the consulting detective asked the driver to pull over.

The two of them exited the car and stealthily walked to where the three people were. From what they could observe, the two men were the same guys from the café who harassed their waitress, which meant that the girl was Anita herself. She was no longer dressed in her uniform and now sported black tights on top of black shorts with a long sleeve white shirt, and black ankle boots. From the tone of her voice, she was not happy in the slightest about her current predicament.

"Get the hell away from me!" She practically screamed at them. One of the men laughed as the two of them continued to advance on her.

"What's with all the hostility?" One of them said jokingly. John could see that the red head was holding a half drunken bottle of Jack Daniels as he took a brief swig and wiped his mouth with his hand; meanwhile, his blonde friend reached out to try and caress Anita's hair. She immediately smacked his hand away. John felt his blood run cold at this sight and looked to Sherlock for some kind of confirmation to stop what was happening.

"There's an innocent girl on the verge of being assaulted and you want to do nothing?!" He yelled and or whispered. Sherlock kept his eyes firmly locked on the scene in front of them and spoke to John in a quite whisper.

"No, but I also don't want to randomly jump in on the chances that they're armed. They're former soldiers, John. What do you expect?" Said Sherlock. John now wore an aggravated expression at not only Sherlock's response, but the blonde mans' hand reaching out and grabbing Anita's wrist to bring her into his chest. She cried out in displeasure as the 6'4 man laid his hands on her. Meanwhile his red headed friend used this opportunity to down the last bit of his drink, sneak up behind her, and begin to run his fingers up and down her sides; regardless Anita's angry out burst and attempts to wriggle herself free.

"You've got to give her a feel, Seb. I tell ya,these curves are Heaven sent". He said with a boisterous laugh. This alone made John's blood boil as he reached for his gun filled with Q bullets, not caring if they were meant for ghouls only; as long as it served as some kind of intimidation tactic. Not even the feeling of Sherlock tugging on his arm could stop John from saving Anita from God knows whatever they were going to do to before he could take another step, he was made aware of the blonde man Sebastian's grunt of pain as Anita kneed him in between his legs, forcing him to release her arm; she then turned around to kick his friend in the face sending him sprawling to the dirty floor.

"Fuck off, you too". She exclaimed angrily. Both men doubled over in pain, but Sebastian managed to get back on his feet long enough to glare at Anita intently. His red headed friend took a bit longer to get back on his feet, but when he did, he had blood caked on his teeth, making him look even more feral than before. Meanwhile, both John and Sherlock stood frozen and astounded at Anita's sudden burst of strength.

"Right then, love. You asked for it!" He said menacingly. As he was charging towards her, she side stepped him with ease, and pushed him into Sebastian's body. The blonde merely pushed him out of the way and stalked towards Anita, prepared to deliver a solid right cross to her face. But Anita was quicker and managed to block the punch to deliver one of her own across his jawline. Sebastian looked as if he had seen stars, but shook it off and moved to punch her again. This time, his red headed friend managed to jump into the fray and they looked ready to tag team Anita. This time, John was more than ready to try out his new gun, despite Sherlock's silent protests.

Meanwhile, the red head moved to punch Anita again, but she managed to catch his fist mid punch and dislocated his wrist. However, the cracking sound that rang out in the air could only mean that it was now broken, never mind dislocated. The man's screams of agony filled the air as he fell to his knees in a pathetic heap. This time, it didn't look like he was going to get back up any time soon. But Anita took it a step further and kicked him square in the head, sending him sprawling to the dirt covered ground. From where John and Sherlock were standing, they could see a trail of blood. They once again stood astounded by the sight before them, unable to believe that the sweet girl that they'd met earlier could assault two men as easily as she could serve them food; even if it was out of self defense. What was even more unsettling was the fact that she was willing to continue. Sebastian's voice broke both of their trances, while he stalked towards Anita.

"You little bitch!" He screamed. He charged at her, but didn't get far as he, John and Sherlock were blinded by a sudden burst of vermillion colored light that blinded the three of them temporarily. The light protruded from Anita like a pair of wings and as quick as lighting, they hardened like diamonds and multiple sharp projectiles shot out at Sebastian forcing him to cover his face with his arms. But it did nothing to shield the rest of his body from the harsh barrage of projectiles that cut into his legs, arms, and torso. John and Sherlock could see that the projectiles were being shot at a long range distance, forcing them to duck back around the corner that led into the alleyway. Sebastian fell to the ground, being unable to take the barrage.

When they assumed the cost was clear, the consulting detective and his flat mate turned their heads back around the corner to see what was happening between the would be attacker and the girl who now looked down at him with the same black sclera and red irises as the creatures that they were told to kill for the sake of Queen and Country. The very creature that John wished more than a few hours ago that he met with a even a sliver of humanity. A ghoul.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I'm glad to see that this story is getting such positive feedback. But I must warn you that this story will be getting slow updates since I'm in college. So I ask that you all please be patient with me. In other news, BBC Sherlock nor Tokyo Ghoul belong to me. They belong to their respective owners. Anita is the only character that I take ownership of.**

* * *

 **In the previous Chapter** : When they assumed the coat was clear, the consulting detective and his flat mate turned their heads back around the corner to see what was happening between the would be attacker and the girl who now looked down at him with the same black sclera and red irises as the creatures that they were told to kill for the sake of Queen and Country. The very creature that John wished more than a few hours ago that he met with a even a sliver of humanity. A ghoul.

* * *

 **Now: ** Judging from the wing like shape that her Kagune took on, John and Sherlock could only guess that Anita had an ukaku Kagune, which basically meant shining feathers. Shining feathers that could harden like diamonds and shoot long/ mid range projectiles that when used against a human ended a battle fairly quickly. In short, Anita was a high speed ghoul whos attacks rely on a combination of agility and swiftness. That fact coupled with the fear and anxiety that gripped the two men watching this scene,prevented them from moving a single muscle even to reach for their weapons. As opposed to shooting another barrage of attacks at her assailant, Anita towered over him and seemed to retract her kagune a little bit. The menacing glare that she wore on her face was well complimented by the literal darkness in her eyes. She looked down at Sebastian as he used what little strength he had in his body to scoot away from her to no avail.

"Before I cut you to ribbons, answer me one thing. Why have you come back after all this time? You're not one to give yourself busy work if there's nothing to be gained from it. Especially if it means bringing along a friend". She asked with a neutral tone that didn't match her expression. In spite of the fear that was coursing through both John and Sherlock, they stood frozen before the scene before them. Sebastian covered his wounds as best as he could, but to no avail, as they continued to bleed; some of his own blood seemed to mingle with that of his friend who still remained unconscious. The best he could do was continue to back away as Anita slowly continued towards him.

"Well? What is it? What's the reason?" She asked again. Sebastian looked back at her not in fear but what looked like dead seriousness mixed in with the pain of his injuries.

"The boss mentioned you by name. He's looking for you. Says he misses your "wonderful services" from the old days". Said Sebastian. Despite the fact that it was meant to sound lecherous, Sherlock deduced that that wasn't what Sebastian was referring to. Not in the slightest. But more important was this boss that he mentioned. John must have had the same train of thought based on the way his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. However, Anita stood completely unfazed by his words and instead gestured to his open wounds.

"Wow. That's an awful lot of joking around, and none of me giving a damn. Especially given the state you're in". She said. She furthered emphasized this point by standing on the shoulder of Sebastian's red headed friend and tearing his arm off as though he were a plastic doll. More blood proceeded to splash and paint the concrete ground as the sound of wet flesh being torn and bone being broken resonated in the air. Sebastian didn't seem to be frightened as much as he was annoyed and aggravated. Nonetheless, he used what little strength he had to stand on his feet, leaning on the wall next to him. John and Sherlock continued to watch the scene unfold with their attention firmly locked on Anita and the severed arm that she now held. The look that she now gave Sebastian was more along the lines of mocking in replacement of the previous menacing gaze.

"Do you still want to bear arms? Go ahead. I'll let you." She said. And with that, she tossed the arm in Sebastian's face, and watched him stumble backwards clumsily. As opposed to retaliating, which he was in no position to do, the blonde simply turned and ran as quickly as his legs would carry him. But not before he gave Anita one last blood curdling glare.

"You'll get yours, Taggitt. I promise you that". He said. With that, He quickly ducked around the corner, not even looking at the two men he almost ran into. While John and Sherlock stood watching Sebastian make a mad dash down the street, Anita's voice reached there ears again.

"You don't want to take your friend with you?" She said mockingly. The sound of her voice alone sent chills down John's spine given the fact that she could discover them at any moment and do them in the same way. The former soldier looked to Sherlock for some kind of consultation on what their next move should be, but the consulting detective still had his eyes locked on the street that Sebastian had run down, despite the fact that the man was long gone by now. More than likely, he was just as shaken up as John was, and decided to focus his attention on something less harrowing than the reality that they were standing a mere few feet away from a ghoul. And while he would deny it later, it was written all over Sherlock's face that he was scared. His eyes seemed wider than normal, his chest was slowly heaving, his lips were contorted into a small grimace, and he appeared to be shaking ever so slightly. It was days like these where John's training as a military doctor truly came in handy.

And speaking of his military training, John was spontaneously reminded of the fact that he was still in possession of a loaded gun that was designed to kill creatures like Anita. A gun that he drew from his coat pocket without a moments hesitation, ensuring that the safety was off and the chamber was pulled back despite the fact that a cold swear was beginning to form, rocks were tumbling around in his stomach, and his flat mate was completely unreachable . He mustered up as much strength as he could and aimed the gun down the alley way where Anita was; If she was there anymore, but she was no where to be found, and so was the body whose arm she dismembered. In that moment, John did the smartest thing that he could possibly think of. Fall to his knees, and eventually onto his side despite the filth of the ground mingled with the blood of a man that killed right in front of them.

Meanwhile, Sherlock spoke for what felt like the first time in this whole ordeal. John could tell just from the tone of his voice that he too was experiencing a rollercoaster of emotions. Fear and anxiety over what lead up to the altercation that ended in a murder and a revelation about Anita. Anger over being unwilling to use their guns sooner. And most of all, confusion as to why Anita hadn't detected them sooner. If ghouls were supposed to have more heightened senses than humans, she would have picked up on them a long time ago. She was either too focused on the other men to notice them, or she probably didn't care. In fact, it seemed more like she was wanting to distance between herself and whatever boss Sebastian had been referring to. Whatever the case may be, one thing was certain. John and Sherlock couldn't stay where they were any longer.

"John. John, get up. We have to go. It's not safe to be out here anymore". Said Sherlock urgently. But the only response that he received was an over the shoulder glance that showed how much John was still reeling from the events of the night. Sherlock called out to John one more time before he finally mustered up the energy to pick his flat mate up off of the ground and flag down a cab back to 221B.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I know that it's been an eternity since this story was updated but now that I've finished my first year of college I should have more than enough time to update and write more chapters. But since I have no actual update schedule, this story may be getting inconsistent** **updates for a little while, so I ask you to please be patient with me. In other news, t** **he characters associated with Sherlock and Tokyo Ghoul do not belong to me, but to their respective owners. The only character I claim is Anita Taggitt.**

 **In the previous chapter:** Whatever the case may be, one thing was certain. John and Sherlock couldn't stay where they were any longer.

"John. John, get up. We have to go. It's not safe to be out here anymore". Said Sherlock urgently. But the only response that he received was an over the shoulder glance that showed how much John was still reeling from the events of the night. Sherlock called out to John one more time before he finally mustered up the energy to pick his flat mate up off of the ground and flag down a cab back to 221B.

* * *

 **Now:** The events of the very next day passed by in a haze of sluggish movements and total silence for both the former soldier and the consulting detective;given that the events of last night were still fresh in their minds, it was only natural that they appeared to be shell shocked. At least that's what Mrs. Hudson had said when she saw the two men slumped in their chairs, watching the TV but not really looking at it. Not to mention the sudden trepidation that shined in their eyes as a new murder was reported near the alleyway of a cafe; the only evidence that was used to make the claim that it was a murder was the severed arm of a human, and the semi large pool of blood that also belonged to a human, both found in an alleyway near the cafe Ami Innatedu. The very place where John and Sherlock stood in the presence of yet another ghoul.

"What's the matter, boys? Does this have something to do with a new case, Sherlock?" asked Mrs. Hudson. The worry that shined in her eyes was clear to see, but it did nothing to break the trance that had John and Sherlock in it's grasp. John especially, given how he was more responsive to Mrs. Hudson's company. All the two of them could think about was how they unintentionally stumbled across another ghoul related case, one that put John's earlier statement to the test in regards to ghouls having even a microscopic shred of humanity; and summing up what they know about Anita from the café and her revelation in the alley way, it was safe to assume that she could very well fit that description, if not for what Sebastian mentioned about the boss, whoever that was wanting her back in his ranks.

Best case scenario was that it was some new, up and coming organization of ghouls that would try to conquer England and swiftly be taken out by the CCG. But Lord forbid that if it was Moriarty, all hell was bound to break lose. His criminal network was enormous enough for him to recruit more than a few ghouls with the promise of fresh human corpses to consume at their leisure. John's gaze slowly turned away from the TV to his flat mate.

"Sherlock..." He asked anxiously. The blue eyed consulting detective heard his name, but everything sounded underwater in Sherlock's mind. Not even the sanctuary of his mind palace could help him process a situation of this magnitude. Truth be told, he hasn't felt this perplexed since the Hound of Baskerville and even earlier than that, his first encounter with a ghoul. And now hear he was again, trying to come to grips with a situation that went far beyond his scope of science or deduction, or even the science of deduction. Once again, he'd heard John call his name, but the sound wasn't reaching him, until he was met with a sight that made his breath catch in his throat and rocks tumble in his stomach like an avalanche.

What was supposed to be John shaking his shoulders to see if he was conscious, morphed into the same red and black eyed ghoul with blood caked teeth, that he had seen for the very first time. His heart leaped into his throat, and not a single sound came out, despite the overwhelming urge to scream. But it didn't come, thank goodness otherwise John and Mrs. Hudson would really have a reason to worry. But it didn't stop Sherlock from leaping out of his chair and attempting to deliver a solid right cross across John's face. But John's military training kicked in allowing for him to immediately catch Sherlock's fist and twist his arm behind his back.

"For God's sakes, will you get a hold of yourself man? Have you been using behind my back again?" asked John clearly aggravated. But Sherlock didn't answer right away and instead struggled against his flat mates grip, eventually relinquishing control long enough to convince John to let him up; out of his peripheral vision he could see Mrs. Hudson fearfully standing in the threshold of the staircase to the front door.

"No, I'm not using. All the drugs on the planet couldn't scrub last night's events from my mind". Said Sherlock, running his hands through his hair in an exasperated manner.

"Wouldn't you be able to erase it from your hard drive, or delete like you say you can?" Asked John. Sherlock merely shook his head and moved to the kitchen to play with the flasks and beakers splayed about the island counter.

"It's as I told you before John, I need to store information that is useful and helps me get at important details, and no matter how unwanted it is, the information I gathered last night about our dear waitress is much too useful to delete". He said still exasperated. In his right hand, Sherlock held a tall, thin beaker with a dubious looking brown liquid in it; after giving it a brief sniff, he downed it in one sitting, and set the beaker back on the table with a satisfyingly loud smack. John merely, leaned against the wall connected to the kitchen and watched his flat mate with indifference and slight worry in his eyes.

" Guess that would explain the panic attack two seconds ago. Though I can't disagree with you about Anita. And to think I neither of us pulled our guns on her; or at the very least contacted Mycroft. Still though, what those guys did was despicable, even if one of them ended up dying, and the other went crying to whoever his boss is". Said John conversationally. He continued while Sherlock continued to rummage around the kitchen, probably looking for more beakers to drink from.

"But it raises a pretty interesting point, don't you think? About who the real monsters are. The ones who are persecuted for doing things differently from us, or the ones hiding in plain sight and are given a slap on the wrist when they're finally caught". He said.

Sherlock had been listening to what John was saying, but still moved around the kitchen so as to keep himself occupied. Eventually he came up short and turned back to his flat mate with an almost unreadable expression on his face, as though he had retreated back to his mind palace. But before the consulting detective could say anything, the text alert on his phone went off. He moved past John to retrieve it from his chair and surprisingly enough it was from Lestrade. He texted that Scotland Yard will handle this case seeing as it was ruled out as an open and closed incident since once again they couldn't find the ghoul that did this; especially with such little evidence.

"And speaking of persecution, it looks like Lestrade doesn't need us for this particular case. Without a face to put to the killer, this is being dubbed as another link in a chain of homicides". He said indifferently walking back into the kitchen. John seemed to perk up at this information.

"But we do know who did this. We saw her in the act last night. I know she may or may not be connected with this other murders, but it's a start. At the very least we should track Anita down, we make her tell us what's going on, and if she beats around the bush or tries to make a move against us, we can turn her in to Mycroft before she has a chance to leave". John said confidently. Sherlock silently observed him and hung on to every word that his flat mate had said all ,while holding another beaker with another dubious filled liquid. Eventually he put it down, retreated down the hall into his bedroom, leaving John standing alone in the kitchen. Five minutes later, he came back with his standard black coat and blue scarf.

"What are you waiting for? You want to press Anita for information, don't you? Now's the best time to do, wouldn't you agree?" He said moving past the former soldier to get to the stairs. John stood glued to the floor for another few seconds before he shook his head and went to grab his own coat.

"Uh yeah. You're right. I'll meet you outside in a second". He said.

He was half expecting the consulting detective to rebuttal with something along the lines of leaving this case to Scotland Yard until an officer gets his face bitten off and actually needs their help. But to actually be listened to about something of this magnitude was surprising to say the least. By the time John managed to walk out the door, Sherlock was halfway down the street and on the way to Ami Innatendu.

* * *

True to Lestrade's word, Scotland Yard was at the scene of the crime, but the only ones present were three forensic scientists and a few officers interviewing anyone that they could. There was lingering crowd of people standing behind a line of yellow tape, filming the incident on their phones but the spectacle wasn't nearly as bad as it was a few hours ago on television. Not surprisingly, Anderson was among the forensic scientists collecting whatever DNA samples could be found other than the obvious blood stain. The second he looked up from his position on the ground, he grimaced at the sight of Sherlock and stalked over to him, diving under the police tape and blocking Sherlock's path.

"No. No. No. Get back. I don't know what Lestrade has told you, but we've got it from here. We don't need your help and we certainly don't need you here, considering how well you handled your first run in with a ghoul. Unarmed I might add". He said condescendingly. Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow while John looked over at the café up ahead. From where he was standing, he could see the retreating figure of Anita walk out of the café; black jacket and handbag in tow. Immediately, John sped walked towards her forgetting about Sherlock and whatever pissing match he was having with Anderson. As he began to catch up with her, a million different scenarios ran through his mind as to how he would confront her. Not just about last night's assault, but how it ultimately ended. And more importantly, what the guy had mentioned about the boss waning her back for her services.

Ghoulism aside, John would be lying if he said that he didn't find Anita attractive, but after the events of last night, he couldn't help but wonder exactly which side of her was most genuine. The side that she showed to John and Sherlock when serving them food or the side that she unintentionally revealed when she killed one man and sent another running away. While John was practically running after her, she maintained a casual pace as though there was no one following closely behind her. By the time John was close enough to touch her, he did the smartest thing that he could think of and didn't.

"Excuse me". He called out to Anita as he got closer and immediately she stopped in her tracks and turned to look behind her. Despite the dimness and lack of sunlight in London, John could still make out the shimmer of her raven black hair that was well complimented by the brightness of her emerald green eyes. Eyes that looked at the former soldier with surprise and slight apprehension.

"Do I know you?" She asked warily. John stopped to a halt and relaxed his posture lest she suspect that he was a ghoul investigator. Well, an official one anyway.

"Well, maybe not. My friend and I were at the café a while ago. You served our table along with these douchebags who harassed you. I was the guy who gave you that extra tip for taking the situation in stride the way you did. I'm John by the way". He blurted out. Anita's eyes shined with minor realization, but she was still wary of him.

"Okay, well do you need something?" She asked. The tone of her voice still upheld it's apprehension but also a sense of urgency. As though she had to be anywhere that wasn't her current setting. John was quick to catch on to this, but had to stall long enough for Sherlock to show up. Woman or not, John had a job to do and he was going to see it through.

"Well I just saw the news about the café and wanted to see if it was still open. And I saw you leaving and just wanted to make sure that you were okay. I can imagine that something like this isn't easy to deal with. So, are you okay?" He asked. Anita merely looked at him with a raised eyebrow and skeptic expression that replaced her previous look of apprehension.

"Well John, after about three hours of interviews and questionings the owner closed the place down for the day, so this is technically my day off. And as far as how I'm feeling, I'm going home to catch up on some much needed sleep". She said causally. She continued before John had a chance to talk. "As long as the incident wasn't inside or in front of the café, I'll be fine". John shook his head in understanding and surveyed his surroundings in a casual manner. Still no sign of Sherlock, but nonetheless John's his people skills were better than the aforementioned detectives on any given day.

"I know the feeling. Being woken from a dead sleep is torture for me, especially coupled with nightmares from my time as an army doctor. No rest for the wicked is right". He said jokingly. But as Anita didn't get the joke and merely let out an exasperated sigh and started on her way again.

"Well, goodbye then". She said solemnly. John's heart immediately leapt into his throat as he saw his opportunity to question her slipping away. He began to walk alongside her waiting, for Sherlock be damned.

"Hey, wait a minute. I didn't mean it like that. It's just that I've killed as many people as I saved during the war, so I'm not exactly a saint. But you seem like a hard working girl whose had her fair share of bad days". He said ramblingly slightly. But even that wasn't enough to stop Anita's walking. John took this as an invitation to keep talking.

"So you probably don't want to hear this, but those guys from the café, the ones who harassed you, have they come back at all?" He asked. While he was well aware of what happened to them, there was always a chance that the blonde guy was still after her for what she did to his friend; so in a sense, John was concerned for her well being. Anita stopped in her tracks at this question, but started up walking a full second later.

"No. They haven't". She admitted. John knew that she was technically telling the truth, but whatever lies she decided to layer on top of it were yet to be told. Instead, she continued her walk down the street with John following close behind her so as not to appear to be stalking her; Sherlock long forgotten.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I can't even begin to tell you all how happy I am to be out of school and have more time to write. But since I have a non existent update schedule, this story will be getting slow and inconsistent updates, so please be patient with me. But in other news, Sherlock and Tokyo Ghoul do not belong to me in any shape, form, or fashion. The only character that belongs to me is Anita. P.S. Most of this chapter is pretty much dialogue. Sorry. **

**In the previous chapter:** "So you probably don't want to hear this, but those guys from the café, the ones who harassed you, have they come back at all?" He asked. While he was well aware of what happened to them, there was always a chance that the blonde guy was still after her for what she did to his friend; so in a sense, John was concerned for her well being. Anita stopped in her tracks at this question, but started up walking a full second later.

"No. They haven't". She admitted. John knew that she was technically telling the truth, but whatever lies she decided to layer on top of it were yet to be told. Instead, she continued her walk down the street with John following close behind her so as not to appear to be stalking her; Sherlock long forgotten.

* * *

 **Now:** John continued to follow Anita as casually as he could, despite his need for information. Information that he tried to pry out of her one dead end conversation at a time.

"So have you lived in London long?" He asked with a small shrug of his shoulders. Anita didn't seem the least bit interested in slowing down her walking pace or even looking at John, but surprisingly enough answered his question.

"Born and raised in Essex. Came here when I was 14. Never looked back." She responded curtly. It was the type of response that Sherlock gave John when he was annoyed by something the former soldier said; something that wasn't to Sherlock's liking. But if John could take it from a junkie detective, he could definitely hear it from a female ghoul. In John's mind,they were both other worldly and constantly brought up questions for him to ponder. Anita more so than Sherlock at the moment; and while he wasn't as good at deductions as Sherlock, he could tell well enough that she acted as normally as any other human. Assuming that normal was even a word that was used any more.

"Was there something else that you wanted?" She asked sounding slightly more annoyed than before. John briefly shook himself back to reality and racked his brain for a decent answer, but only ended up stuttering.

"Well I- um-" But before he could continue, he and Anita were intercepted in the middle of the sidewalk by a small redhead with pigtails in her hair and eyes as brown as chocolate diamonds. She couldn't have been more than 19 years old and wore a short flowing black skirt, and an untucked white button up with black casuals on her feet.

"Hey. Are you John Watson from the blog? You are, aren't you? You work with Sherlock Holmes! Seriously, the two of you are like Bonnie and Clyde. Well ,I mean if Bonnie and Clyde decided to be crime solvers instead of crime committers. I'm Rebecca by the way". She said excitedly. It was obvious that she was a fan as she looked at John with admiration and jittery excitement that she tried to contain with good natured humor. But her excitement visibly dwindle when she didn't see the aforementioned consulting detective and glossed over Anita.

"Speaking of, where is Sherlock? Are the two of you working on a case right now? Involving the ghouls?". Rebecca asked. John looked around him as if actually looking for his flat mate, but really it was to make sure that Anita wasn't going to try and slip away into the crowd. To his relief she was still standing near him, looking out into the crowd with a bored expression on her face. Good, he just needed her to stay put long enough for him to get rid of the girl in front of him.

"Um, no actually. We're taking a day off from cases for the day. I'm out and about getting some fresh air and Sherlock is being Sherlock back at 221B". He said casually. Rebecca shook her head in understanding and looked to Anita as though seeing her for the first time.

"Ah. I see. Getting some fresh air with your new lady friend." Rebecca asked trying to be jovial. Almost immediately, John shook his head and gave a nervous laugh while Anita merely raised an eyebrow in minor surprise.

"Oh no. We were just talking". He said. Rebecca once again shook her head in understanding and smiled good naturedly.

"Well, you have a good one. And please give Sherlock my regards". She said before leaving in the other direction. John watched her go and released a breath that he didn't know that he was holding. He turned back around and was once again thoroughly surprised to see Anita still standing patiently off to the side. He approached as quickly and calmly as he could. But before he could open his mouth to talk, Anita beat him to it.

"Well this has been fun, but unless there was something else you wanted we're done talking and I have somewhere to be. Excuse me". She said firmly before speed walking away. John had every intention to follow her, but was stopped by a very familiar voice that spoke up from close behind him.

"Going to see your former boss, I presume?" The blond soldier didn't have to turn around to know that it was his flat mate who took his sweet time in catching up with John; so he merely watched as Anita slowly turned her head to face the both of them. And with all the quickness of a ghoul, she stalked over to Sherlock and got right in his face with a fierce snarl.

"What did you just say?" She asked in a voice dripping with malice. Surprisingly, enough, Sherlock stood unmoving and unflinching before her and stared down at her with his usual cold indifference.

"What my pathologically shy flat mate has been trying to say is that we were there when you made a midnight snack out of those two men, whom you served as a waitress earlier that day, and whom wanted you to serve them in an alley way. However in the midst of your bloodshed, you let one man go with an injuries from your kagune that will have him on bed res for I imagine another three weeks; based on the fact that the speed and agility that you used when firing those projectiles means that you weren't actually trying to hurt him, but rather get him on his back long enough to make him weak and helpless and divulge the fact that a former employer of yours is demanding your return to their forces, and now you're in the process of trying to leave town before either the CCG or your former boss comes snooping around and looking for you.

You have a younger brother that you could stay with, but you don't want to trouble him with what you consider petty problems, when it's really due to the fact that should something happen to you and the CCG get a hold of you, you'd want him to go on with his life and leave you to die". He said without even stopping to take a breathe. John had pretty much become jaded to the number of times that Sherlock has made lengthy deductions about complete strangers, so he stayed silent for most of this one.

On the other hand, Anita stood gaping like a goldfish out of water. A plethora of emotions crossed her face as time seemed to slow down between the three of them. Shock, despair, anxiety, anger, and finally and most surprising of all annoyance.

" So you're Sherlock Holmes. Well it looks like that girl wasn't a complete raving loon. The two of you really are a crime solving Bonnie and Clyde duo. So is this the part where you turn me in to the investigators?" She asked venomously. John moved to stand between the two of them, trying to keep the conversation as calm as was humanly possible, but upheld a firm tone while doing so.

"Well the though did come up between the two of us, but that's only if you can't tell us what we need to hear". He said. Anita looked at John incredulously, but still upheld the venom in her tone.

" About what? About how those fuckers from the café tried to have me up against a wall, or about how one of them went home with me and is spending the night in my deep freezer? Your partner just got done saying that the two of you saw what happened, so what the hell else is there to say?" She asked. Once again, Sherlock stood undaunted in the face of potential danger.

"Well for starters, who was your former boss and what does he want with you now?" He asked. Anita now back up three steps from Sherlock and looked between him and John not sure if she should try to appeal to John's sympathetic side again. Though she doubted that would work, given the fact that he threatened to report her should she step even a toe out of line. And it's not like she could intimidate Sherlock if he could stand his ground against a ghoul and quiver. So she exhaled a deep sigh despite the fear and anxiety that swirled inside her like a dark whirlwind.

"Look, whatever you heard that night;Whatever that asshole said, it's not relevant anymore. I got out of that life and it's ancient history now. Dead and buried". She said. But Sherlock didn't seem convinced and pressed on.

"How would you like to see it dug up and brought before the CCG?" He threatened. Sensing that the situation was going nowhere quickly, John jumped back into the conversation. He didn't need to look Anita for too long to see that Sherlock's words got to her in the worst way possible. Specifically, the angry and shock that made up her countenance and contorted her features.

"Okay now. Hold on. Look, Anita, we're not going to report you for defending yourself. Human or ghoul, no one should have to go through what you did. But we will report you if you withhold any information that could stop these random murders." He said trying to level with her. But Anita just looked at him pointedly.

"Even if I tell you what I know, how do I know you won't just rat me out once you solve your little investigation? Technically, the two of you are breaking the law by just talking to me." She said.

"Not when you have the head of London's CCG headquarters is in your back pocket." Sherlock interjected. But Anita still remained unconvinced and scoffed at the consulting detective.

"Oh great. So you'll just turn me over to the head boss and let him turn me into his latest quinque?" She said wryly and with a bit more hurt in her tone of voice. Sherlock gave a quick shake of his head as John exhaled a sigh of exasperation. This was much harder than he originally anticipated. He almost wished that Sherlock hadn't caught up to him.

"No. Not at all. If anything, he prefers rinkaku quinques not ukakus. I think they're a bit easier to for him to hold and move around with anyway". Said Sherlock apathetically. With that Anita, turned on her heels and ran fast as lightening down the street, away from the two men. Before John could even begin to call out her name, he stopped himself knowing that it'd be pointless as he watched her retreating figure disappear into a larger crowd of people. Instead, he fixed a cold glare at Sherlock who exhaled a sigh and adjusted his jacket on his body.

"Well that could have gone better. Do you want to report our findings to Mycroft or should I?" He asked. John's face now contorted from an ice cold glare into a expression of exasperation and disbelief.

"We can't report anything because there's nothing to report. And there's nothing to report because our only source of info is now running away from us. Thanks to you". He said aggravated. As usual, Sherlock could see no wrong in the way he handled the situation and kept talking.

"Weren't you the one who wanted to report her to the CCG if she refused to tell us what we wanted to hear?" He asked bringing up a valid point. But as John pondered this though, he raised his arms only to let them fall to his sides again.

" I know. It's just that..."He trailed off as he tried to think of a reasonable explanation and or excuse to back up the declaration that he made at the flat. The last time he'd ever felt this conflicted about a situation was...well...ever since he came home from the war and partnering up with Sherlock. But neither of those times could compare to this one. While John had encountered his fair share of human monsters who lacked a single shred of humanity, actual monsters were another matter entirely. Especially ones who wanted nothing but to live their lives like John, Sherlock, or anyone else. Technically speaking, Anita wasn't trying to terrorize those guys anymore than they were trying to take her on a date that night. Maybe he was being too hasty in his proclamation to turn her into the investigators. John ran a hand through his hair and exhaled another deep sigh for the umpteenth time that day.

"Fine. You caught me. Okay new plan, we get ahold of her when she least expects it and maybe proposition her to help us figure out who's behind all of these killings. We just have to be careful of Mycroft". He said still exasperated. Sherlock once again raised a well groomed eyebrow and looked to where a street camera was pointing in their general direction.

"I wouldn't be to sure about that. Psuedo investigators or not, Big Brother is always watching". He said tonelessly. John rolled his eyes and ran a hand through the tresses of his blonde hair, exasperation at an all time high.

* * *

Because it was still early in the day, John and Sherlock decided to walk around the area for the day, going nowhere. But in the midst of their walking around, more than a few people came up to them to both express their love as fans and mildly berate both John and Sherlock as to how to catch the ghouls responsible for the rampant killings. And each time,Sherlock sent them off with something along the lines of "We're working our hardest with the police to make sure you and yours are not the next mangled corpses to be found". Obviously, most if not all of them walked away shocked. But John and Sherlock simply kept on walking, lost in their own trains of thought. Sherlock's was on how exactly they would exact John's plan to exact information from Anita under Mycroft's nose. While he wouldn't admit it, he was interested to find out more about Anita's past regarding her former boss and why she would stay in a place that's crawling with human monsters that want her dead. The deductions that he made were just the tip of the iceberg. Whatever else could be learned about her has yet to be deduced.

Johns' thoughts were of a similar nature, but were more catered to how they would gain the trust of a monster that was being hunted by human monsters, without coming off as monsters themselves. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't a tiny bit attracted to her, but beyond that, he wanted to sit down with her and have a genuine conversation about how much different the ghoul world is from that of the human world. If there was a chance of that conversation happening, then it may open the door for peace between the two species. But in this day and age, that was easier said than done.

Especially with clinical and cold people like Mycroft pulling the strings. The pair of them kept walking until they noticed that it was getting late and was about time to hail a taxi back home. Unfortunately it didn't look like there were any on the streets to pick them up. The two of them stood on the street in front of a clothing boutique that was preparing to close as the sun was setting and John pulled out his phone.

"Looks like I'll have to call a car for us". He said pacing back and forth on the nearly empty street, with his phone to his ear. Meanwhile, Sherlock decided to take notice of the mannequins on display in the clothing boutique, not really looking at them but skimming over them, waiting for his partner to be done with his phone call. As he began to make his way near the entrance of the store, the door suddenly swung open and out stepped a red head with brown eyes carrying at least 4 bags. The two of them nearly collided, causing the girl to drop her bags onto the ground.

"Oh dammit. I'm so sorry. I'll pick these up". She said quickly. Sherlock merely brushed it off and got down on his knees to help her.

"No, really it's fine". He said picking up two of her four bags. When the girl reached for the bags in his hands, her eyes immediately lit up in excited realization.

"Wait, are you- you are, aren't you? Sherlock Holmes!" She said happily. Having met more than a few fans today, Sherlock was prepared to give her the same line that he gave everyone else that day; until he heard John's voice from behind him.

"Sherlock, the cab will be hear in 20 minutes, we should- what are you doing? Who is that?" He asked. The girl looked back at him with a smile brighter than the sun.

"John! Hi again. How are you? Small world, right?" she asked. John immediately saw that the red head was Rebecca, the same girl he met earlier when he was talking to Anita.

"Ah. Rebecca. Hi...again. I see you've met Sherlock. Sherlock, this is Rebecca. She's a"-

"A fan of ours. I'm aware". Sherlock interrupted. John shook his head and looked at the bags that she was carrying.

"What are you doing out here at this hour?" He asked concerned. Rebecca shook her head and waved her hand dismissively.

"Oh, it's fine. I live in this area and just wanted to get some last minute shopping done". she said gathering all four of her bags in her hands. Sherlock merely observed her with deductive eyes as various words began to flash before him regarding the red head in front of him. **23\. College graduate.** L **ives alone. Pet owner. Loves to shop.** Abruptly was Sherlock's train of though broken by John's voice.

"Sherlock, do you want to walk her home, while I wait for our cab?" John asked. Except the way that he phrased it came out as a demand, not a request. John figured that it was a way to show that despite Sherlock's aloof way of handling things, he was still human like most of the population.

"Sure. Of course. Where do you live again?" He asked, taking two of her four bags. The girl seemed elated at this news and started walking down a nearly dark sidewalk away from the boutique.

"Just this way. Its not too bad of a walk". She said attempting to conceal her obvious excitement. Sherlock canvased the area as best as he could in the darkness of the early evening. He noticed that it wasn't exactly the most populated area compared to where he and John were talking to Anita.

"I have to say that I'm more than a little excited about all this. Not only do you and John solve crimes difficult crimes, but you help young girls carry their bags". She said trying to make lighthearted conversation. Sherlock merely exhaled a sigh and adjusted the bags in his hands.

"Yes, well in the case of lower brow simian human males, chivalry is pretty much dead. I recommend you stay far away from them". He said attempting to make conversation. Rebecca responded with a light giggle and stopped in front of a two story housing unit that had a gateway leading into what could be a garden.

"Its right here. Thank you so much, Mr. Holmes." She said. Sherlock proceeded to hand the bags over to her as she began to speak again.

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, I know this is a bit off color, but I have to ask". She began. And before Sherlock had a chance to react, all four of the bags came flying in his face, temporarily obscuring his vision. Then came the explosion of pain from a foot swiftly colliding with his head. Almost immediately did Sherlock's brain rattle in his skull and he collapsed onto the ground, despite his best attempts to simply collapse onto his knees. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes in unmistakable agony as his heartbeat began to pick up pace. He could barely even register the sound of Rebecca's voice talking down to him.

"When did a nice man like you become a flunkie for the doves?" She asked. But the pain in Sherlock's head seemed to intensify and felt as if a marching band was playing it's finale; and this prompted the consulting detective to raise a hand to the side of his head that was impacted. He cracked open his eyes in time to see a pair of casual shoes came into his line of sight. With what little strength he had, Sherlock looked up to see Rebecca looking down at him with a sinister smile on her face.

Coupled with an unmistakable pair of red and black eyes that belong to non other than a ghoul. Realizing that he was in a world of trouble, Sherlock reached out to grab her ankle and possibly drag her down to his level. Unfortunately, this had no effect and only prompted Rebecca to crouch down to his level and punch him in the head, thus knocking him unconscious.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: Happy 2018! The following is a fan based work of fiction that has taken me way too long to upload, I know. School is back session and I still don't have an update schedule. That being said I don't want to see this story fade into the background. Just please be patient with me. That being said, neither Sherlock or Tokyo Ghoul belong to me, but to their respective owners. It's also worth mentioning that I made Sherlock slightly out of character for the sake of this chapter so please try to bear with it. **

When Sherlock finally awoke, the first thing he took notice of was the pounding in his head. Before he finally managed to open his eyes and expose them to the sting of the harsh light that shined in front of him. Eventually his sense of hearing kicked in and he managed to pick up the sounds of foot steps moving around him. He tried to retreat into his mind palace to recall the events that led him here, but the pounding in his head prevented him from doing so. When he opened his eyes more slowly again, he groggily found himself in what appeared to be a white walled bedroom; one that was void of any furniture or decoration save for one blacked out window, and large grey panels of sound proof foam that covered the walls. The floor beneath him was covered in a thick layer of blue tarp that crunched and moved along with his body. He tried to move his body to stand, but found that his hands and feet were bound with thick rope. He also found that his coat and shoes had been removed, leaving only his pants and button down shirt.

Suddenly, Sherlock was alerted to the sound of footsteps that were now coming towards him and stopping directly outside the door of the room. From the other side, Sherlock could hear the sound of key being inserted into a padlock, being taken off, and finally the door coming open. On the other side stood Rebecca still in the clothes that she wore when she abducted him only this time her hair was down, creating a waterfall of long reddish orange hair down her shoulders and back and under left arm, she held a carving block filled with knives. Her eyes immediately looked Sherlock over with a malicious glint that could only be described as pure barely restrained hunger, made all the more terrifying by the childlike excitement that accompanied it. Not wanting to be outdone by a ghoul, Sherlock broke the silence that surrounded the two of them.

"Most stereotypical monsters prefer to house their victims in poorly lit basements or cellars. But you seemed to broken that stigma entirely". He said sarcastically. Rebecca merely hung her head to the side and smiled a crooked smile.

"Yeah. Sorry about that. Basements and cellars have become so passe'. This is much more intimate for what I have planned. If you like, I can bring John here to join in on the fun we're going to have. Not that either of you can do anything about it". She said. At the mere mention of John's name Sherlock began to struggle against the rope that held him, grimacing and snarling as he did so. Rebecca saw this and quick as lightening pounced on him, straddling his chest; with one hand wrapped around a long kitchen knife and digging her nails into his skin with the other, despite the thickness of his shirt. Sherlock stopped struggling, but he was far from giving up.

"What have you done to him"? He asked angrily. Rebecca merely tilted her head as she looked down at him, still keeping up her frightening aura.

"Nothing. But if I had to hazard a guess, he's running up and down the streets calling your name like a mother to her lost child. Since that is technically what you are, Mr. Holmes. A demanding, egotistical child who can't function properly without someone to hold his hand. Or protect him from the things that go bump in the night". She said intimidatingly. But where John Watson was concerned, Sherlock would not cower.

"He would have texted me by now. And my brother can track my phone just as easily". He said. The smirk that Rebecca now wore was a nasty one that contrasted with her actual beauty.

"Oh you mean the one that I crushed under my shoe after I dragged you in here?" From out of her shirt, she unveiled a white cloth that had something wrapped up inside of it. Letting it tumble and open, she revealed the broken remains of Sherlock's. Even the battery looked it was destroyed with a good amount of effort. Some of the pieces landed on his chest unceremoniously, while others just tumbled off and landed on the floor beneath them. While his eyes didn't show it, Sherlock was now awash with fear for John's and his own safety. Rebecca somehow picked up on this and that made her smirk grow even wider, as her hands ran down the consulting detective's chest and ripped his shirt off, sending buttons flying in various directions. Cold air was quick to hit Sherlock's upper body and somehow spiked his fear to new heights as he began to struggle against the binds around his wrists. Meanwhile, Rebecca put down the kitchen knife to survey the other ones in her cutting block. Picking them up to get a feel for which one felt the best. Eventually, she settled on a sleek cutting knife that had a curved but sharpened blade that glimmered in the artificial light of the room. Sherlock saw this, and tried to coach his features to look as calm as possible. Even if that meant making meaningless small talk.

"Why not just use your bare hands like a regular monster? It's not like you don't have the strength to do it". He said with as much venom as he could muster. The smirk on Rebecca's face never waned this entire time as she stared down at her prey with pure sadistic lust and hunger in her eyes.

"Be that as it may, this is way more intimate. As I said before. I want to enjoy the control that I have in this situation. Just think of it. Little ole' me making a meal out of the one and only consulting detective in the world. And a handsome one at that". she said with more lust than what Sherlock was comfortable with. This was made all the more evident by the brief grinding motion that Rebecca was doing as she straddled him. If Sherlock wasn't panicking now, he was on the verge of having a heart attack. He'd helped sexual assault victims before, but being on the other end of the spectrum was another matter entirely. The helplessness, fear, and lack of control were more than his high functioning brain could handle. If Rebecca would do what he though she would, he wasn't sure that he'd be able to just delete it from his hard drive like he normally could.

Once again, the ghoul could see all of the whirlwind of emotions in his eyes and this sent her in a frenzy as she drove the tip of the knife into his left pectoral. From above her, the consulting detective let out a loud yell and banged his head back against the floor. The pain sent his mind into overdrive as he tried to ignore it to the best of his ability. After what felt like an eternity, Rebecca finally pulled it away from his chest, creating a sizable hole in the process. The stinging sensation that it created had Sherlock groaning and whimpering for his life as he closed his eyes, not wanting to see the mess that was being made of his body. Against, his better judgment he cracked his left eye open but instantly regretted it when he saw Rebecca lick the blade and cut her own tongue in the process, mingling both of their crimson liquids. At this point, there was no point in hiding his fear. The consulting detective felt his heart pound in his chest, thumping against his ribcage, as a giant lump began to form in his throat and sweat began to form on his brow. Without a moment's hesitation, Rebecca raised the knife above her head again and prepared to strike him again until she was interrupted by the mood killing sound of her front door bell.


End file.
